A Case of Lonely Hearts
by Grateful Post
Summary: The story picks up after the S02 finale and assumes that Paddy Doyle died at the end of that episode which is just my guess... . This is my first fanfic for R&I so please be gentle. :


**A Case of Lonely Hearts**

Order. Method. Pattern. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Four days into "Recommended" (read: non-voluntary) "traumatic stress" leave (she felt that even those who had known that Doyle was her father couldn't call it bereavement leave) and pattern was all that Maura was capable of doing. It was how she anchored each day. And she knew it was a stress response, but that knowledge didn't help.

Everything had been cleaned. Scrubbed. Anything that could be reorganised had been - the pantry, the closet, books, shoes. Maura made lists. Allocated each hour of the day to a task. When she wasn't with her mother in the hospital, she was busy in pointless, energetic activity.

Of course, she reflected, this was all completely natural. Trauma affects individuals in different ways. And it didn't help that she had no one to talk to about what she was feeling. Not that she felt she could have talked. Her mother was still recovering in the hospital; Angela had been invited to stay with Frankie at Jane's instigation (no doubt Frankie was regretting being persuaded into being so helpful; and Jane herself, well there was just no going there.

The loss of Jane in itself was a pain, not unlike a person might feel once a limb has been removed but the brain still receives phantom signals of pain. Maura couldn't think of Jane without feeling that she now had to grieve for the loss of two people; one dead and one perpetually absent.

But each night as she slept her subconscious mind brought out the scene in the firefighters' garage again. Went through it again. Sometimes she lived the scene again; sometimes she watched, an objective observer; sometimes she saw it as if over the shoulder of Jane or Dean or Korsak or Frost or Doyle. In the morning Maura woke sweating, haunted again by something she couldn't describe clearly but which she thought must be loss.

Maura knew her own house so well after four days of cleaning and rearranging each corner that on the fifth day of leave, when she returned from the hospital, she knew immediately that something was wrong. Something was out of place. Though the door was locked, the mail still where it had been left, the air was different as if swirled through with something else. At first she thought she had left a window open. But when she walked further in, nerves tingling (and yet, she admitted afterwards, excited by a change, by something different), she had her answer. Tommy Rizzoli sat patiently waiting for her in her own living room, back straight and an air of nervous tension tugging the corners of his mouth into something between a smile and a frown.

'Hi Maura.'

'Tommy. How did you...?' she left the question unfinished, sitting down quickly to face him. She was alert, anxious, pleased, sad, all at once. And not sure she could keep standing.

'From what I'd heard from Frankie, I didn't know if you'd let me in if I just knocked on the door. Relax! I don't still have a key. I just, uh, dusted off some old skills.'

She stared at him. Then, conscious that she was staring, she shifted her gaze quickly up and saw the flowers in a vase on the kitchen bench. He'd even put them in water! Maura shook her head and searched for her composure.

'Tommy I'm glad to see you of course, but at the moment I'm afraid...' all polite phrases for please get lost vanished from her mouth, taken away by another thought: I'm so lonely. I'm so very lonely.

'It's alright. I...I can go if you like. But I thought that maybe I could...that maybe you would need someone.' He paused again and she went to speak but he held up a hand, pleading to be heard. 'You took a leap of faith and helped me once. I thought the least I could do is return that. Because I know,' he lent over and looked directly at her, as so few people do in conversation she suddenly thought, 'I know what it's like to be lonely and I kind of thought that you might be lonely now.'

Maura looked at him. Scrutinised every part of his face, his posture, his being. She was torn - wrenched between the pain - he was Jane's brother! He was so like Jane! To look at him made her think of Jane unbearably! But he was also a friend, here looking serious, concerned, and cautious. She took a breath to speak, but he cut across her thoughts with 'I thought too that unlike Jane, I've seen Paddy with you when he's been down, needed your help. And when he was most proud of your skill and of you, of his daughter.'

And for the first time since the death of Paddy Doyle, Maura dissolved in tears.

Tommy Rizzoli scrutinised the dregs of his coffee but found no help for his current dilemma. People read tea leaves didn't they? To tell the future? So why not coffee? Did the way a few grinds gathered in the left side of the cup mean disaster? Was the crust of foam from hot milk the sign of happiness? Rubbish, he thought, and pushed the cup away.

Maura was in the bathroom. After their first brief chat, her tears had seemed to fall for hours. He thought (correctly as he later realised) that it was the first time she had cried since the shooting. So he had sat by her, hugged her, and waited until she was through. Then he'd made coffee and she'd told him about how her mother was recovering, and how she herself wasn't. The cathartic conversation had been peppered with random pieces of information - Maura's mental comfort blanket of interesting facts - something she unconsciously did when she was emotional, often without realising. He had nodded. Had listened. And had noticed with growing concern that the whole house seemed to have become surgically clean and neat.

Tommy knew he had to do something more to help. And he had a hope that what he was about to suggest was right. But he still felt he was in unchartered waters with women. With people really. After having messed so much up and missed so many years he was very hesitant about his instincts as far as human behaviour went. Hence why he was looking for other signs. In coffee cups of all places.

He heard the bathroom door open and decided that he had to take the leap. The worst that could happen was that she said no, or looked shocked, or threw him out. And even then, he would still be able to feel he'd done some good for her, he consoled himself, by providing some human company and some novelty - a brief respite from the loneliness of grief.

'Tommy I'm really sorry about before. I'm so sorry.'

'Please don't be. You're allowed to grieve you know.' he smiled at her. A small, slightly nervous smile.

'I know. It's just...I feel like I've been living in isolation from everything for so long. Time seems to have stopped for me. I wish I'd been allowed to go back to work. I know three weeks is standard - actually there was a study done about stress you know and it found,' and then she paused, mid pointless fact as he interrupted her.

'There's something else too, actually, another reason why I came round to see you.' he started awkwardly. 'Say no if you're not interested, if it's not something you want to do, or whatever.' Now she was looking at him curiously. Tommy suddenly thought he knew how a lab specimen must feel under Maura's scrutinising gaze. Not that the gaze was harsh or unfeeling; there was a sense of concern there, mixed in with an almost innocent questioning: now, what do you have to tell me? Her gaze seemed to ask. Tommy took it for encouragement and continued.

'A friend of mine has a problem. I can't help him, but I thought maybe you could. Or I could get some advice from you or something.' He paused, looked long at her, and then pre-empted her next question. 'I haven't asked Jane; I couldn't. I know we've mended things, but this problem, this friend, he's...he's from my other...I mean I knew him in the old days. Jane wouldn't understand and wouldn't like me even talking to him. He's pretty shady. 'Tommy picked up his cup and turned it slowly in his hands. 'Jane doesn't actually know I'm here.'

Maura had now sat and was watching him closely, her chin resting on her steepled hands. 'Please go on.' was all she said.

'My friend has been, in fact, still is, in prison. He was out but he got busted in a car with some stolen gear and they marked him for parole violation and threw him back in. He got him touch with me through another guy, an ex-fence, so I went to the prison to see him. Tommy he says, you still got that sister who's a cop? Sure I tell him, and she's going to be real pleased with me talking to you. What do you want with my sister anyway? He tells me he needs someone investigated. He's got a feeling. I tell him Jane's hardly going to go out on a limb for his feeling, him, or me and he better get to the point. So he tells me the story. While he was inside before, he used to get letters from girls. And letters from one girl in particular.'

Tommy paused and Maura, looking quizzical, asked what he meant by letters. Letters from a family member?

Tommy sighed. 'No, prison groupies. Well they're not all groupies really - some of them are good people or church people trying to do a little bit to help a prisoner see the error of their ways, know that to all society is against them, that kind of thing. I got some myself, though they weren't that exciting. But then, I was down the hierarchy. I wasn't in for anything really bad, in the greater sense. The guys who used to get the fan mail, the groupies, they were usually guys who had high profile cases, or had done something pretty bad. Tony had been in originally for some pretty heavy drugs stuff so his profile was more interesting. He got more admirer letters than the other sort.'

'There are women who write to criminals? Why?'

'Sure. Some odd kind of attraction I guess. They send all sorts - flowery letter paper, perfumed, often lots some quite, ah, explicit stuff too. They're prison fan girls - like badge bunnies but they go for the other side.'

'Oh. Ok, go on. What was Tony's problem?'

Tommy continued. 'When he'd been inside before, Tony had gotten lots of letters like I say, but there was one girl in particular he had a fondness for. Her name was Kitty and she used to write him all the time. He'd figured that when he got out, maybe he could meet up with her, see where it went. I had told him he was nuts - most of these girls don't hook up with the guys they write to - it's only for the thrills. All over once they get to see the guy face to face and realise the sort of problems a relationship would have to work through. Besides, so many of the girls are young and these guys have years of being on the wrong side of the tracks. They've lived five horrible life times in one. Anyway, Tony couldn't find Kitty. And then he got distracted by the pressing concern of needing some money. He got back into it with some friends and that was that - parole violation. Tony hadn't been out too long, maybe a month or so, and so when he got back in, first thing handed to him was two letters from Kitty. Lost in the administration system and no one had forwarded them to him while he was on the outside.'

He looked at Maura; she was still watching him intently. But he thought he saw that she was interested, that for a moment maybe he had distracted her from her current problems.

'Tony read the letters and wrote back, telling her was back inside, that he was sorry he hadn't found her, all that. He got a letter back, long and detailed, lots of love and kisses, all the usual. One more letter from him. A postcard from her. Short. Blunt. She doesn't want to hear from him again. No kisses. He thought this was odd. Really odd. A couple of weeks pass and even though he'd sent her a letter after the postcard - what's wrong? What did I do? - all of that, he has nothing back. So he asks around. Tony knew that he wasn't the only guy Kitty used to write. But no one has heard anything - the guys she used to write have also stopped getting letters.'

'How do the letters come through to the prisoners initially?'

'It can be different for each prison, but generally the corrective services manage the letters through. Anyone can write to a prisoner; it's just a matter of knowing which prisoner and where they are.'

'Did Tony talk to corrective services?'

'He told me he thought of it. But inmates and screws...' Tommy left off his sentence.

Maura laid her hands flat on the bench and looked down at them, seeming to examine them for a moment. 'Then he has no idea of Kitty's address or a means of contacting her directly?' She looked up at Tommy as she spoke.

'No,' Tommy agreed. 'That was why he wanted to talk to me. He thought that maybe I could ask Jane to find Kitty, see what's happened to her and if she's ok. But I know that Jane would never do that, and I told Tony the same. Then I thought, maybe you...' he left off, unsure of how to make his case.

Maura seemed to think for a moment. She looked down on the bench, then at the flowers, and then at Tommy. Except she didn't seem to see him, Tommy thought. It was like she was looking through him. He waited. Maura's gaze seemed to focus and with a small shake of her shoulders, as someone waking from a day dream, she seemed to reach a conclusion.

'Of course there may not be much that I can do,' she said. 'However, the little I can do, well, you'll have to help me. But yes, I would like to help. I'll do all I can.' A small smile. 'Maybe it's a good thing.' Tommy returned her smile with one of his own and he hoped and prayed that she didn't see him sigh with relief. He was so pleased: he'd been hoping that this problem of Tony's might be just the thing Maura needed to occupy her wonderful mind.

A few days later, Maura met Tommy again. She'd insisted on her house, even though he had suggested a quiet drink. Maura felt she was still numb from Paddy's death and she hadn't processed it yet. To deviate from her patterns, including her home, would be too much right now. Although she admitted, smiling quietly to herself, working on the problem Tommy had brought had let her feel like her numbness was thawing. Better than a bunch of flowers and trite kind words! Tommy, she felt in her heart, knew a little of how her mind worked...he was...oh! But she told herself to stop - it did NOT do to go there!

Pushing THOSE thoughts to one side, she looked at him as he concentrated on the chess board between them. A bottle of wine, half a chess game, and some scraps of chat...it had been a good night. But, now down to business. 'I've made some enquiries with corrective services about Kitty. Skirting the official channels though. And I think I've had some success.'

'Great! What did you find out?' Tommy lifted his gaze from the game.

'It appears that Kitty was Katherine Gloss. I've got an address for her - if it's a correct one - it came from the files. Other details are a bit sparse; the age she gave when she first started writing to prisoners about eight years ago was 20, but my source says that he has a feeling she was actually younger and put her age up. 18 is the cut off for writing, at least in the Boston corrective services.' Maura paused and considered the board. She casually moved a piece, taking one of Tommy's as she did so. 'They don't have a photo of her as people who want to write don't have to provide much beyond their name, address and so on. At the time when she applied there were no background checks performed and no photo ID required. Of course they require that now, but when the new processes were implemented, no one thought to go back through the files and background check everyone else.'

'So Kitty slipped through a gap in the system.' Tommy picked up a piece as if to move it, then replaced it.

'Yes. But the address she provided does exist. I visited...'

Tommy interrupted. 'You should have called me!'

'It's alright.' Maura smiled. 'I needed the walk. Turned out the address wasn't far from the hospital. So I checked it, but no Kitty or Katherine or Gloss family.'

'Damn.' Tommy made his move. Maura put him into checkmate. He flicked over his king and conceded. 'I haven't found much more,' he said, taking a sip. 'All the old guys I know, or could find out, who she'd written to previously had either lost track of her or moved on, for the most part. There were two guys though, still inside, who had the same experience of her quitting the friendship with a postcard or just a short letter. Both thought it was strange since she'd always been so friendly, especially with the guys she liked. But out of all the guys, none had ever met up with her on the outside, although a few had tried.'

'I did find another lead though.' said Maura, starting to rearrange the pieces back to their beginning positions on the board. 'I googled both Kitty and Katherine Gloss.' Tommy looked slightly blank. Maura shrugged. 'Search engine - the internet?' He gave a small slightly puzzled smile, so she continued. 'Kitty Gloss has a website. And facebook and twitter. In fact she was all over the internet. From the content I can be fairly sure that it is the same girl as Tony's Kitty.' At this point, with all the chess pieces rearranged, Maura got up and returned with her laptop, to show Tommy the website. It was a gaudy thing, Kitty's webpage. Decked out in graphics of black lace and hot pink, it's pictures showed a pretty girl, if heavily made up, with shoulder length brown hair and pale skin. Kitty posed coquettishly, long eyelashes covering dark blue eyes in a half wink at the viewer. Yet the theme of the website was completely innocent: as they browsed the pages the information provided was adolescent in nature - Kitty's likes and dislikes, favourite colours and personality quizzes, and favourite movies.

Then there was a page which was different. Where there ought to be endless meandering lines about the boys she liked (if the website continued true to its theme), there was instead a page about crime; Kitty's own black museum, where links about horrific criminal acts accompanied biographies of criminals and extracts from Kitty's letters. She had lists of those she had written to, and those she wanted to write to one day. Some of the names on this second list were crossed out with a date next to them. As Maura read down the list she realised that these were dates of execution - some of the 'Wish List' members were death row inmates. Presumably ticks and the movement of names from one list to another meant that Kitty had been successful in writing to the inmates. The name at the top of the 'wish list' had been circled. At the bottom of the page were a set of links to other pages, a chat room and discussion boards - a webring for girls interested in criminals and writing to them; a scum fan club Tommy called it.

Tommy stared in amazement. 'She looks about 24! Some of these guys are...well they're serial killers, rapists, paedophiles, real scum! How could she want to write to them?'

Maura shook her head slowly. While she couldn't understand why a girl would want to correspond with people this horrible, she could understand a little of the fascination with crime. Crime as a puzzle, its pieces, divorced of their horror and sadness, needing to be understood, categorised and solved. Little pieces of crime needing to be labelled and set right so that the world once again made sense. But making sense of people had never been Maura's strength, she knew. The pieces of crime about which she sought to understand were the inanimate objects and her code to them was science.

'From what I can see, the website was last updated three weeks ago. But I'm no expert; it could have been updated after that but with the updates hidden somehow perhaps. I would have to ask someone like Frost to take a look.'

Tommy was thinking now, looking over the top of the laptop to the window. 'Three weeks would be just after Tony received his postcard. The other guys said postcards and letters arrived just before. From what I can tell, Tony was the last to get a postcard. Now it looks like the site was update just after the card was sent to Tony.'

'The website is hosted through a server run by Vtech. I contacted them. Pulled a bit of rank actually.' Maura smiled shyly. 'And I got a billing address for the user.'

'I hope you didn't just drop round to this place!'

'No. I waited until I saw you. Figured two would be better.'

When they said goodnight, Maura paused at the door and all in a rush said thank you. Tommy looked confused briefly and then smiled. She realised that he knew how this problem solving had drawn her out, distracted her. He had done it deliberately. To have someone know even a corner of your mind was, she decided, both frightening and comforting. Frightening, in the way that thinking someone had been in your house without you being there was frightening - had they seen the laundry piled up and the bathroom sink not cleaned? Had they judged? Comforting in the way that trying on a dress for the first time and finding that it fit perfectly was comforting; you could suddenly imagine yourself wearing the dress and feeling that you could face the world. That perhaps it could have been made just for you.

The next day was a cold, overcast Boston day that threatened rain, but didn't quite carry through on the threat. Tommy met Maura about a block from the address Vtech had given for Kitty. Knocking received no response so after a bit of discussion they decided to break it. If the place wasn't Kitty's then they could leave everything as it was. Tommy got the impression that he was watching her closely as he picked the lock, watching like she was attending a tutorial and mentally taking notes. He grinned quietly to himself; just one of the small details he liked about Dr Maura Isles.

Once inside the apartment, the first thing they both noticed was that it was clear no one had been there for some time. The apartment had an air of stillness and deserted calm. Together they started the search for clues. 'A diary would be useful,' Tommy mused as they checked Kitty's bedroom. It was clear that the apartment was Kitty's: adolescent disarray was the main decoration theme; walls were covered with photos and gaudy bits of tat; scented candles and trinkets decorated every available surface. Mail in the name of Katherine Gloss lay undisturbed on the doormat. Nothing so useful as a diary could be found however, in amongst the mess of the bedroom. But Maura did notice several photos of Kitty, obviously taken during a night out, showed her wearing a short silver dress and black stilettos. Checking the wardrobe and some of the floor clothes piles Maura could find no sign of the silver dress. Was that what Kitty had been wearing when she disappeared? Had she taken it with her? If so, had she gone to meet someone? Tommy listened to Maura's reasoning and was quietly impressed. He said as much and to his surprise she blushed slightly.

In the kitchen they found a half empty fridge, some of its contents on well on the way to going bad. Dishes in the sink were starting to mould over. Maura grimaced at the mess and Tommy though guiltily of his own apartment and sink. A calendar pinned to a corkboard in the kitchen provided the first clear set of leads they had found in the apartment: a phone number for work (a day spa called Calming Seas); a business card for a hotel on the outskirts of town was tucked behind the calendar; and amongst the other appointments and notes in hot pink marker pen a weekend roughly three weeks ago was triple circled and surrounded by smiley faces although there was no other writing to give a clue as to its significance. While Maura puzzled over the calendar, Tommy examined the various notes and papers pinned to the fridge. He glanced at lists ('Top 10 things to do B4 I die', 'Weekend Kit', and an odd one labelled 'Trophies' which had a name at the very top with a :P and 'ha ha lolz' next to it), scraps torn from newspapers (mostly articles about criminals), and pictures ripped from magazines. Then he found something else. 'Maura, have a look at this,' he said, holding it out.

They looked together, laying it on the kitchen bench top. Written on prison note paper, it was a letter - a love letter. The writer talked of their recent correspondence, and how he would soon be out on parole; he wanted to meet Kitty. He gave the name of a hotel (the same as on the card) and a date (that circled on the calendar) and a time (5.30pm). There were further, more explicit, details included and Tommy broke off reading with a grunt of disgust.

'It looks clear what may have happened to Kitty,' Tommy said, his voice conveying a mixture of anger and sadness.

'Not quite,' Maura looked up from the letter. 'We don't have enough evidence yet. It's all circumstantial. Besides, we can't be sure whether she went to the hotel or whether something else entirely happened to her.'

'But Maura! That letter, it's from Sutler. Peter Sutler. You know that case, you know what he did to those girls. God, why would she want to write to someone like that? Meet with someone like that?'

'Yes, it's true that Sutler's victims were about Kitty's age. Three known victims, all sexually assaulted and then murdered. Two women survived his attacks. It was an horrific case. But that's just the odd thing: I didn't think that Sutler would be given parole. It's only been nine years into his sentence.'

'If Sutler wasn't going out on parole, then why would he write that letter?'

'I don't know. Perhaps he didn't write the letter at all. But it is easy enough to check with corrective services as to whether Sutler will have parole.'

Tommy looked worried. He knew that Maura saw it, although he also knew that she was now bent on solving the mystery of Kitty's disappearance. Tommy could see a light behind Maura's eyes - the thrill of a mystery that needed to be solved; a truth to be found for the sake of a girl's soul. Given that that light replaced a sad, lonely vacuum, Tommy was glad to see it.

'Not much more we can do here at any rate,' Maura said looking around. They left quietly, replacing the mail on the mat.

The next day, Tommy called the Calming Seas day spa and asked to speak to the manager. Pretending to be Kitty's landlord, he asked if Kitty had been to work recently, said he hadn't heard from her at all and her rent was overdue. As anticipated the manager too was baffled and annoyed by Kitty's absence. She'd not been in to work for three weeks and the manager was sick of it; he was just about to fire her. Tommy asked if Kitty had an emergency contact and the manager was even more forthcoming - yes, Kitty had listed her brother who lived in Syracuse. She had no parents - had told the manager that they had died years ago. The manager had called Kitty's brother, but he hadn't seen or heard from her in years, cared less. So no more chances; Kitty was a good kid the manager said, but this was her last chance. If she didn't show up next week he would send her a notice. He wished Tommy luck in getting his overdue rent out of her.

Maura meanwhile had contacted corrective services and found out that Peter Sutler, vicious serial killer and rapist, would never be eligible for parole. He'd received 25 years to life for his attacks on five women, causing the deaths of three. It had always been suspected that he'd had more victims, but no information ever came to light. Yes, corrective services had records of him receiving letters from women, among them Kitty. Her letter had been one of the most recent ones. Maura's contact had sighed and expressed his disgust with the practice of writing to prisoners. He couldn't understand it he said, and was certain no good could ever come from it.

Next Tommy called the hotel named in the letter - Three Oaks Western Inn. This time he was a concerned uncle looking for his niece, Katherine. But the hotel assured him that there had been no booking made under that name, or Kitty, about three weeks ago. No one had seen a girl matching Kitty's description. Tommy was worried the trail was going cold.

Maura took a further look at Kitty's website, this time examining the other pages in the webring, and looking through the chat rooms and forums. Kitty had a large number of fellow criminal fans it seemed. The forums were full of discussions, with everything from how to write to the more notorious prisoners to elaborate fantasies of redemption and relationships. Once over her shock that anyone might idolise killers, paedophiles, and rapists, Maura started to notice patterns in the discussion threads. It seemed that Kitty had been considered a veteran of the group, having had more experience and success than many of the other girls, but even so she had had her enemies. A girl called 'Mad_Janie' argued with Kitty frequently on the forums - sometimes the arguments went for pages.

Out of curiosity, Maura looked at Mad_Janie's own website. While similar to Kitty's it somehow looked darker, with red and black predominating instead of Kitty's favourite hot pink. The content too was similar, but a key difference was that Mad_Janie's interests were far more specific than Kitty's; where Kitty had lists of favourite criminals, Mad_Janie's favourites only numbered three - and the number one favourite was Peter Sutler. Remembering back to the forums, Maura realised that the most recent fight Kitty and Mad_Janie had had was about which had written to Sutler first, and who he liked more. Minus Sutler, the argument could have been over any pop group or movie actor; that it centred on which girl a serial killer liked best lent it a surreal, macabre edge.

Maura met Tommy in a bar and all their talk was of how their searches had progressed, what would they do now, how could they find out for certain what had really happened to Kitty. Tommy was so pleased to see Maura animated again. Her mother was recovering slowly, she told him, and despite the case she visited her every day. Thank you, Maura told Tommy, thank you for helping me, distracting me. As she spoke she looked at him so earnestly. The case was such a necessary distraction from, she paused, everything, and then she seemed to want to say more and stumbled. He didn't know why he did it, but at that moment Tommy reached out and took her hand in his. She did not speak again, but looked at him, so sadly that her gaze quite hurt him, but instead of looking away, he got up, dragged his chair around beside her and put his arm around her. Tommy hoped, prayed to every saint he knew, that this wasn't too forward. But God knew he didn't have the words to help this wonderful woman! He had to let his actions speak for him and hope that they were eloquent enough.

And it seemed that they were because she lent against him, silent tears rolling down her face.

As the Saturday morning light crept in through the large windows of Maura's house it touched gently on the empty wine bottles, the stained glasses, a half finished chess game, and dirty plates in the sink. On the floor it flowed over shoes, blue suede sling-backs and elasticised boots. A man's shirt flung over the back of a sofa, and a tailored jacket draped over a chair. In bed Tommy lay head propped on his arm, watching Maura as she slept, tracing the contours of her neck and back, he reached over and gently brushed the hair from across her eyes. She stirred sleepily and half awake turned over and kissed him, smiling. 'Oh what will Jane say?' she asked him.

'Good morning.' he said smiling.

'No, she won't say that. What will she say?"

'She'll say nothing if she does not know. And she doesn't need to know if we don't want it.' He could have been annoyed he thought later, that her first thought on waking after they'd spent the night together was of Jane. But he wasn't annoyed. Her concern for her friend, even a friend who had killed her father, was beautiful and very Maura. He loved her more for it. She still looked concerned and so he stroked her hair, 'We can cross that bridge later. And if you wish it, I won't press you. I...I like you a lot Maura. But I respect you too much to do anything that would hurt you.'

His words seemed to reassure her for now, and, a few moments later she got up, sought her dressing gown and went out to make coffee. Tommy soon followed her and they sat with coffee and toast, talking now about the case again. Things with the case of Kitty's disappearance, they both agreed, had hit a dead end. They knew that she had an enemy, that someone had made a date with her (but not Sutler), and that she may or may not have reached the hotel on that fateful day. 'Perhaps,' said Tommy 'the best thing is to go to the hotel and ask further questions. Maybe someone else around the place saw something. That's the only way we'll find out.'

'I've also got the address for Mad_Janie,' Maura added, 'although there's no pretext for contacting her and no way that she, as someone who fought with Kitty, would necessarily care what had happened to her. But I got it just in case, and a picture of her.' she added. 'Kitty and Mad_Janie could almost have been twins.'

Breakfast over and Saturday having no demands on either of them, Maura and Tommy decided that visiting the Three Oaks Western Inn was the best place to start on the next part of the case.

At Three Oaks they initially had less success than Tommy's original phone call. No one at the reception had seen any girl who looked like Kitty. There were definitely no bookings under that name for the last four weeks back, and none under the name of Katherine Gloss either, or under the name of Sutler. Outside in the car, feeling somewhat defeated, they were considering their next move until Tommy saw a guy putting out the hotel bins and recognised him.

While Maura waited in the car, Tommy went off to speak to the man. Maura watched Tommy as he spoke, his profile side on to her and his face and expressions earnest and friendly. She watched his movements, thought she detected excitement and then success, but these thoughts floated on a sea of distraction - she was considering him and remembering last night - thinking of nights to come, thinking of Jane, thinking of how she felt happy for the first time in many weeks.

But there was something else too, an undercurrent that Maura couldn't place. She felt like she knew this hotel, even though she'd never been here before, she was sure. Yet something nagged for her attention; an insistent terrier of a thought tugged at her sleeve and begged her to remember.

Tommy came back to the car and leaned in at the driver's side window next to her. 'Steve says yes, he does remember a girl like Kitty. Says she was wearing a short silver dress - says he'd never forget any girl who looked that hot. She arrived in a taxi, paid the guy and went to go into the hotel, but she didn't because she was met by another girl on the steps. Steve says they talked for a moment - he doesn't know what was said because he was hosing out the bins - but then the girls both got into a car - Steve thought it was an orange Mazda, pretty battered. They drove off, music blaring. Steve says he remembered the song playing because both the girls were young and he didn't think they'd listen to 50s stuff.' Tommy paused for breath, then went on. 'I asked him what the other girl looked like and he said that was the thing, she was so much like the first one, like Kitty. Long brown hair, pale skin, but she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, baggy thing, with some kind of slogan on the front.'

He went around to the passenger side and got in. Maura could tell he was excited at this latest development. 'This is great! Now we've at least tracked her to the hotel, and to a meeting with another girl.' He paused, seeing that Maura seemed deep in thought. 'What is it?'

'If the girl was almost Kitty's twin then it's very likely it was Mad_Janie.'

'But you have her address - all we need is to think of a pretext to go and question her.'

'There's something else though. The 50s music, the battered Mazda, the hotel carpark. I know why this hotel is familiar too.'

Tommy was confused. 'Familiar? Why would it be familiar to you?'

'It's where Sutler picked up his last victim. Eliza May, 25, a waitress at the hotel restaurant. He met her in the carpark and offered her a lift home in his battered Mazda. He'd been stalking her for three weeks prior to that night. And when I looked at news articles about the Sutler case yesterday I found the other details:' Maura listed them off. 'Witnesses who saw the car always heard 50s music being played - blues, rock and roll; Sutler always wore jeans and a slogan t-shirt - usually something anti-war; Sutler killed with a blow to the back of the head, inflicted with a ball-pein hammer which he kept in his car, under the driver's seat; and he always disposed of the bodies in parks - the last victim was found in the Alewife Brook Parkway, and she was covered over with rubbish. Eliza May wasn't discovered until a week after she'd been murdered, and then only by accident.'

'But, but,' Tommy stammered in shock, staring at Maura. 'Then that means that...but no! We know that we're not looking for Sutler so how can we assume that Kitty's been murdered and dumped where Eliza May was found? It doesn't make sense!'

Maura looked at him, held his gaze steadily and then looked down at the steering wheel. 'The facts we have suggest that someone, and it seems likely that it was Mad_Janie, has murdered Kitty and has either tried to make it look like it was Sutler or,' she paused 'or has made a copycat murder. As a sign perhaps.'

'A sign of what?'

'Something to signify victory. I think that Mad_Janie and Kitty had a fight over Sutler. All this attention to detail - I think it's Mad_Janie's way of claiming victory over Kitty in the fight for Sutler's affections.'

'What next?' asked Tommy, once they'd sat in silence a few moments, thinking over Maura's theory.

'I think we'd better go to Alewife Brook Parkway,' said Maura. 'And then if I'm right, we'll have to call Frost and Korsak.'

Afterwards what Tommy remembered was how calm Maura was through it all. I guess that's because it's her job, he thought. But still. She'd gone from theory to proof - after about an hour's scrounging around the Parkway they'd found a heap of rubbish, including an old mattress, and under that had been Kitty.

From Maura's quick examination it was clear that she'd been battered to death with a ball-pein hammer, the repeated blows breaking the skull - Maura had said death would have been almost instantaneous. Even so, Tommy imagined Kitty driving with Mad_Janie, slowly realising that she wasn't going to meet up with Sutler; starting to panic; maybe trying to run or maybe at the last she realised who she was with and she tried to confront her killer, just as Mad_Janie swung the hammer...

Tommy had been so proud of Maura too, the way she calmly gave a statement to Korsak, providing all the information they had gathered and putting the story together in a clear, sensible way. Korsak had been kind, tactfully stepping around the fact that it had been Tommy who had brought the case to Maura.

Tommy could have hugged the old guy for that. While Tommy knew that eventually all this would get back to Jane, currently on non-voluntary leave, right now he just wanted to think of the time he had had with Maura - he didn't want to wonder what might happen next.

These were the thoughts that were running through Tommy's mind as he sat opposite Maura in a bar a couple of days later. They hadn't really seen each other since the conclusion of the case of Kitty, but she hadn't been out of his thoughts for a second. He wondered if she had been thinking of him.

'My non-voluntary leave is supposed to finish on Monday.' Maura broke the silence.

'Will you be wanting to get back to work after all this excitement?' Tommy smiled.

Maura smiled back at him. 'Korsak gave me the file on Kitty's case, well, what they have so far. They've interviewed Mad_Janie, whose name turns out to be Sarah Guill by the way, and the story is pretty much as we thought. Sarah and Kitty were rivals for Sutler's affections - not that he cared of course. Both wanted to write to him, and Kitty had bragged on the discussion forums that she had exchanged letters with him first. While the other girls were in awe of her, Sarah was burning with jealousy since she regarded Sutler as her own. So she wrote Kitty the letter purporting to be from Sutler. Kitty didn't check to see if the source was genuine - she was probably just thinking of the bragging rights - and went along with the letter and then with Sarah.

Korsak says Sarah told Kitty that she was Sutler's niece and kept talking to her about how much Sutler wanted to see her on the drive to the Parkway. Kitty ate it up and only really got suspicious when they parked at the Parkway and there was no one else about, but by then it was too late. Sarah says that Kitty did realise who Sarah was, but when she turned to walk away, Sarah already had the hammer in her hand and struck. Then of course she tried to make it look like a sexual assault by pulling off the underwear, and finally hid the body under the rubbish. Over the next week Sarah sent the postcards as a final act of revenge; she saw it as ruining Kitty's reputation with her prison correspondents.'

'All that for a serial killer who probably doesn't care about her at all.' Tommy sighed.

'Hard to believe, but yes.' Maura took a sip of her drink and then continued. 'My mother will be out of hospital soon. She wanted to stay with me, but I think a resort trip will be better for her, somewhere sunny away from Boston. She wanted me to come with her but my leave is finished.'

'Ah.'

'But I've decided to extend my leave by another week. And I said I'd go with her, but first there was something I needed to do in Boston. She's agreed with that - I'll spend the weekend with her.'

'What are you going to do with another week's leave?' Tommy asked, still reeling from the idea that Maura would voluntarily take time off.

'That all depends on you Tommy,' she replied, watching him carefully. 'I thought maybe we could spend more time together, perhaps take a short holiday away from Boston, if you could get time off.' As she watched him his expression changed from surprise to smile - a smile that lit his entire face so that she couldn't help smiling with him. Tommy reached over and took her hand, as he did so trying to think of the best way to tell Maura that she'd just made him the happiest man on earth. He didn't care what happened after this moment, he didn't care about Jane, he didn't care about anyone except the wonderful woman in front of him. As he looked at her he got the distinct impression that he didn't need to say the words; she already knew.

The End. (Or maybe the beginning... ;) )


End file.
